


Dust Scan

by Maia_Nebula



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Devastating diagnosis, Gen, Light Angst, Second opinions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maia_Nebula/pseuds/Maia_Nebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His office was not small, but it somehow felt overcrowded with only three people and a tin of homemade biscuits in it. Maybe it had something to do with what had just been stated. Or maybe it was all just in John’s mind.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>In any case, he was an army doctor, dammit, and he was <strong>most definitely</strong> not about to start crying.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust Scan

His office was not small, but it somehow felt overcrowded with only three people and a tin of homemade biscuits in it. Maybe it had something to do with what had just been stated. Or maybe it was all just in John’s mind.

In any case, he was an army doctor, dammit, and he was _most definitely_ not about to start crying.  
“Would you like to sit down?” He asked calmly, struggling to remain both professional and affectionate as his world crumbled around him.  
“Oh, no, dear. I wouldn’t be able to stand up again.” Mrs. Hudson replied with a smile.

He knew he should laugh. He knew that she was trying to be funny to defuse the tension in the room and that he was supposed to play along, but he found no humour in the situation. Apparently, neither did Sherlock.  
“You would. This is all in your head.”  
“Sherlock!” John hissed angrily, before even registering what the man had said.

But, used to rudeness, Mrs. Hudson only added an eye roll to her smile, the sweet, long-suffering smile that wasn’t meant to be on her thinning face.  
“Look, I’m sure the results are wrong. A dust scan–”  
“A what?”  
“A dust scan, John. A simple glance at her use of flour while making biscuits and a thorough analysis of her cleaning routine show that there’s been a mistake. Obviously, her GP is an idiot.”  
“We already talked about this, Sherlock…”  
“We did, Mrs. Hudson, but I understand that after such a diagnosis, people usually seek a second opinion.”

Finally, she seemed to be losing her patience with the consulting detective.  
“You understand correctly. In fact, _that's why I let you drag me here today_. However, what you don’t seem to understand is that a dust scan isn’t a real diagnostic procedure.”  
“It is! In 2003, I was able to–”

Mrs. Hudson hushed him, placing her hand on his arm.  
“We have to look at the evidence. That’s what you always do, isn’t it?” Sherlock didn’t reply, and John was unable to say anything around the lump in his throat. “I’ve lost half a stone recently, I feel tired and weak all the time, and my hip has been worse than ever. My GP decided to run some tests and–”  
“No.” Sherlock’s voice trembled as his eyes filled with tears. 

John's eyes were also watering: there was only one reason why Mrs. Hudson would feel so resigned about this.  
"How long have you known?" He heard himself whisper.

Mrs. Hudson didn't seem surprised by the question but Sherlock did, and John's heart constricted as the younger man's distress increased.  
"Six weeks." She calmly answered.

And John felt like his heart was no longer beating...  
...because six weeks ago he'd heard her crying all night and had wanted to ask her about it. Instead, he'd ended up running after a Greylag goose with Sherlock at dawn...  
...because he had stood up Ms. Hudson three times within the past month when she'd shyly asked him over for tea...  
...and because the one time she _had_ come to see him at the clinic, he'd somehow worried about Sherlock being ill and had only talked about his flatmate during her visit...  
She had smiled softly, answering all his questions before leaving without saying anything about what she'd known.

For six whole weeks, while Sherlock set fire to the kitchen cabinets and both men followed scurrying criminals around London, Mrs. Hudson had endured her pain bravely, quietly, and all alone.

And even now that they knew, she kept her feelings to herself, hugging Sherlock tightly as he cried into her shoulder without saying a word.

The position didn’t look comfortable, but Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to mind. She stroked Sherlock’s unruly hair with one hand and made soothing circles on his back with the other. When Sherlock's crying didn't subside, she lovingly assured him with words such as _I know you’re scared, but it’s fine, it will all be fine._

Sadly, John thought as he sniffed and blinked to dry his eyes, it wouldn’t be. If she was showing easily identifiable signs and symptoms, she’d be at a stage that required aggressive treatment incompatible with her age. The doctor in John knew this meant her prognosis wouldn’t be good. He would just have to refer her to a very good specialist and hope for the best.

The friend in him, however, decided that he’d take over her treatment. He was not a Harley Street physician, but he could make sure that every single resource would be made available to treat her, even if he had to beg Mycroft for assistance...


End file.
